


We Belong Together - 1959 newtmas

by ava_kay



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: 1950s, 1959, 1960s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Band, Band Fic, Bisexual Thomas, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Gay Newt, Guitarist Newt, M/M, Pining, Rock and Roll, Thomas is a good boy, drummer thomas, newtmas - Freeform, thomas is kinda obsessed with newt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-05-03 16:57:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14573445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava_kay/pseuds/ava_kay
Summary: Summer of 1959Good boy Thomas has just graduated high school and has his whole future ahead of him. Go to college, meet a nice girl, take over his father’s mechanic shop.It all seems simple until he hears about Newt. He lives in the same town, he’s in a band, he’s the same age as Thomas. But the kicker? He’s recently been outted as gay.When he’s invited to join Newt’s band, Thomas realizes that maybe his future isn’t so clear after all.TW: strong themes of homophobia due to the time





	1. one

There he is, running a hand through his slicked back dirty blonde hair. And for some reason, Thomas cannot tear his eyes away.

   Despite the recent gossip surrounding him, the boy doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. His fingers tap on the counter to the beat of the music playing, and if Thomas isn’t mistaken, there’s a small smile tugging at his lips. It’s mesmerizing.

   He’s impossible. Simply impossible. And there’s an empty stool right beside him. Thomas wouldn’t look like _too_ much of an oddball if he went over, right? He probably would, but he ignores the doubt in his head. At this point, it’s like a moth to a flame. He _needs_ to speak to him.

   His legs are shaky as he walks towards the boy, trying to think of an icebreaker. Nothing comes to mind but the thought that he’ll regret this.

   Thomas sits next to him at the bar, and the blonde doesn’t turn to face him, Thomas’ confidence fading by the second. But it’s too late to leave now.

   “Hi,” Thomas says lowly, only halfly looking at the other boy.

   He turns now, his expression not changing from the way it’d been previously. Thomas can feel his chest constricting as the boy looks him up and down, not being subtle about it at all. When their eyes meet again, his smile grows the smallest bit.

   “Hi,” he says, his manner more calm than Thomas was expecting.

   It’s then that Thomas realizes he needs to actually continue the conversation. He hadn’t thought this far, only how to get his attention. Now that he has it, he hasn’t got a clue what to do with it.

   Luckily, music saves him.

   “You like Ritchie Valens?” Thomas asks, referring to the song playing.

   The other boy nods, his smile—or what can best be described as a _smirk_ —now undeniably set on his face, making his brown eyes look brighter.

   “I do,” he says. “It’s a shame, really, what happened to him.”

   Thomas almost forgets to answer again, so lost in his thick accent. His voice is smoother than honey, and his tone is as sweet as it, too. “It is. He had a lot of talent.”

    _You’re mine, your lips belong to me. Yes, they belong to only me, for eternity,_ the song continues. The music seems to fade in Thomas’ mind as he nervously waits for a reply.

   “You like music?” he asks, raising his eyebrows questioningly. He’s wearing a darkly colored suit with a tie, which he adjusts a bit as he shifts in his seat.

   “A lot,” Thomas says, trying to force his gaze not to go anywhere below his nose. “How about you?”

   He laughs a little, nodding. “A lot. I play guitar for a band, we’ve just had a gig,” he says, gesturing to his clothes.

   Thomas is well aware, but he plays it cool. “How was it?”

   “I’d say it went well, aside from a protester or two,” he says, the words making Thomas’ heart hurt. “What’s your name?”

   “Thomas.” He’s grateful for the topic change, not wanting to talk about anything protest related. This is going well, he thinks. His anxiousness can’t get the best of him now.

   “I’m Newton, but most people call me Newt,” he says, extending his hand.

   Thomas takes it, trying not to let his nerves at the contact show as they shake hands.

   “You play anything?” Newt asks.

   “I can drum, but not well,” Thomas says sheepishly as they put their hands back down.

   “Not well? That’s too bad, we’re looking for a new drummer,” Newt says, reaching forward, grabbing his drink and taking a sip from the straw. Thomas forgets himself, watching his lips, before taking in what he’s said.

   “You are?” Thomas asks, slightly too enthusiastically. “I’m not the best, but I’m not horrible.”

   “Tell you what, Tommy,” Newt says, Thomas feeling an unstoppable heat rise in his cheeks. “Audition for us. There’s only two others, but they’re great lads.”

   “Really? That-that’d be great,” Thomas says. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from their conversation, but this wasn’t it.

   “I just hope you undersold yourself.” Newt smirks, then looks to a spot behind the counter. “You want something?”

   Thomas furrows his eyebrows, Newt’s question confusing him.

   “Are you ordering something?” Newt specifies.

   “Oh, um, I already ate,” Thomas says, wishing immediately after that he’d just said yes.

   “So you just came over to chat, did ya?” Newt asks. Thomas definitely can’t hide his blush now. “You still in school?”

   “I just graduated, actually,” Thomas says, hoping he’s not making a fool of himself so far. He’s got a bad habit of it.

   “Same here,” Newt says.

   “Do you have any plans?” Thomas asks. That’s something he actually _doesn’t_ know the answer to. What will he do now? Stay? Leave?

   Newt’s smile turns a bit sadder, but his eyes don’t lose that same sparkle. “Do _you_?”

   Thomas smiles. He didn’t get an answer, but Newt hasn’t told him to leave yet, so he’s finally starting to feel more at ease. “I’m supposed to take over the family mechanic shop.”

   “Do you want to?” Newt asks.

   “Not really,” Thomas says, surprised by the question. Nobody’s ever asked that before. “But I don’t have much of a choice.”

   “Sure you do,” Newt says. “Let’s just see how that audition goes. Maybe there’s something there.”

   “Maybe,” Thomas says.

   “Do you know Vince’s Music Shop?” Newt asks. Thomas nods, so he continues. “If you’re not doing anything tomorrow at seven, we’ll be there. You can audition then, if you’d like.”

   “That sounds perfect,” Thomas says, practically stunned. “Thank you.”

   “’Course,” Newt says, getting up. “I’ve gotta go, but it was nice talking to ya, Tommy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

   “See you tomorrow,” Thomas smiles.

   “And, ehm,” Newt leans forward, Thomas’ smile fading into almost an awed expression at the closeness. “Thanks for not minding the stares.”

   Newt pulls away, but winks before he turns, walking from Thomas and leaving him speechless. He hadn’t noticed anyone staring at them, but taking a glance around, there are a few eyes on them. Nobody looks annoyed or disgusted, just interested, but they avert their eyes as Thomas looks at them.

   It makes him nervous, hoping that nobody will talk about him. But it’s not like he _did_ anything… even if he was thinking about it.


	2. two

All he thought about that night was his encounter. His first actual _conversation_ with the boy. _Newt_.

   His parents were concerned with his behavior, which led to some embarrassing overcompensating. But all in all, nothing could ruin his mood.

   It’s a quarter to seven, and Thomas is sitting outside of the music shop. He’s got on a black button up with short rolled up sleeves and jeans, his hair slicked back. It took him an hour and a half to get ready, but he was home alone, so he didn’t have to worry about judgement or questions.

   He’s never had a real secret like this before. For the most part, he’s a good kid. He doesn’t even _smoke_. He’s tried, but it ended with coughing and headaches. Back in school, he had a reputation for being a bit of a square. But it never bothered him.

   If only they could see him now. Everything those other kids did, none of it was as risky as this could potentially be for Thomas. His rebelliousness is long overdue.

   Thomas checks his watch. Five past seven. He’s starting to think he’s gotten stood up when he hears the loud slam of a car door.

   “Careful with the rod, Gally! She’s new,” a boy says, hopping out of the vehicle that’s now parked in front of the shop.

   But Thomas doesn’t pay attention to him, or the other boy—Gally, apparently—on the other side defending himself now. No, all he can focus on is the blonde boy emerging from the backseat, a playful smile on his face.

   He’s in such a trance, that when Newt meets his eyes, he barely notices.

   “Cool it for a second, boys. Tommy’s here, and you’re gonna scare him off,” Newt shouts over the others.

   Finally, Thomas snaps out of it, seeing the other pairs of eyes on him. He can’t help but feel exposed in front of the new people, like he can feel them scanning him for faults.

   The first boy walks ahead of the others, stopping in front of Thomas.

   “Newt’s told us about you already. I’m Minho, that back there is Gally, and our band is called Scorch, any questions?” His delivery is slightly rushed and bored sounding, but something about his face makes it feel like the opposite. He’s got jet black hair and is clearly of Asian descent, and he’s wearing a fitted black t-shirt that shows off his muscles as he crosses his arms.

   “I, uh,” Thomas stutters. He’s actually got a _few_ questions. “Where do you guys play?”

   Minho looks surprised at Thomas’ words, as if he hadn’t actually expected him to ask anything. “A few places. Nightclubs, mostly.”

   Thomas wants to ask if they play anywhere sketchy, but pushes the thought away. “How late do your gigs go?”

   “Shouldn’t be _too_ late for you, unless you’ve got a bed time,” Minho says sarcastically.

   “Why’d the other drummer leave?” Thomas asks.

   “Personal reasons—are you writing a book or something?” Minho says, furrowing his eyebrows.

   Thomas must look as embarrassed as he feels, because Minho is shoved away.

   “Leave him alone, he’s curious,” Newt comes to Thomas’ rescue. He’s got on blue cuffed jeans and a red plaid shirt, his hair less tamed than yesterday, falling forward. “Come inside, Tommy, we’ll show you around.”

   Thomas just nods, not wanting to risk speaking any further. Who knows what would come out of his mouth?

   Newt walks in, followed by Minho, leaving Thomas to look up at the taller boy in the gray vest next to him.

   “Well, you were on time,” Gally says. “That’s already a good start with me.”

   “Thanks.” Thomas offers a sheepish smile, and with that, they walk in.

   It’s a larger place than he’d expected. He hasn’t ever been further than the records, but Newt leads them through a door that reveals a whole new section. There’s instruments all around, and Thomas doesn’t even have time to marvel at them before he’s led through yet another door to what appears to be a practice room.

   There are guitars, basses, chairs and papers scattered everywhere, and in the middle, two things; a piano, and a full drum set.

   It’s beautiful, and it’s definitely better than anything Thomas has ever played on before. He walks to it immediately, reaching out and touching one of the cymbals.

   “Do you two need some privacy?” Thomas turns to see Newt behind him, smirking. His eyes widen, and Newt gestures to the drums. “Go on, then. Play something for us.”

   “Now?” Thomas asks.

   “No, next week,” Minho says, now sitting on one of the chairs in the front of the room.

   Newt glares at him, then turns back to Thomas. “Actually, Tommy’s right. We should wait for Vince,” he says.

   “Wait, Vince? Like the owner?” Thomas asks.

   “He’s our manager,” Newt says. “Lets us practice in here and books us gigs.”

   “How do you know him?” Thomas asks.

   “You sure do have a lot of questions,” Minho says. “He’s Gally’s distant cousin, but we don’t get special treatment for it. If we were shit, he’d tell us to get lost.”

   “He’s not lying.” A man looking to be in his upper forties with a beard and brown hair walks in, lightly shoving Minho’s shoulder.

   “Here’s Big Daddy himself,” Minho says, smiling for the first time since Thomas has met him.

   “Vince, this is Thomas. He’s auditioning to be our new drummer,” Newt says, standing beside Thomas and jerking his thumb towards him. Once again, he tries to ignore the obvious assessment Vince gives him with his eyes.

   “Fits the look, let’s see how you play,” Vince says. Thomas almost sighs in relief at his first words, he was afraid he’d be kicked out before he even played.

   Newt turns back to Thomas, putting a hand on his arm that Thomas struggles not to look down at. “You’ll do fine, mate.”

   Thomas nods a thank you. “What do I play?”

   “We’re a rock and roll group, so something fitting,” Newt says, shrugging before going to sit next to everyone else. They look extremely intimidating all grouped together

   “I know Jailhouse Rock, is that alright?” Thomas asks in a small voice, sitting in front of the drums.

   “Go for it,” Minho says.

   Thomas shakily picks up the drumsticks and takes a deep breath. What is he even _doing_? Sneaking out to audition for a band he may not even be good enough for? What’s the game plan after this?

   Right now, this moment, could potentially change his life forever. If he’s shot down, he’ll go home humiliated and try to forget Newt and his band. He’ll go on and follow through with his original plan, but a part of him would always have to wonder, what if?

   But if he succeeds… who knows?

    _It’s all or nothing_ , Thomas thinks to himself. All or nothing.

   He starts playing, refusing to look up. It hadn’t occurred to him how funny the start of the song sounds without guitar or Elvis Presley singing, but nevertheless, he plays.

   When the song starts to kick in, he becomes vaguely aware of noise in the background. It almost trips him up, but once he realizes what it is, it finally makes him look up.

   “ _Everybody, let’s rock_ ,” Minho sings along. “ _Everybody in the whole cell block, was dancing to the jailhouse rock_.”

   Now everyone joins in, singing while Thomas continues the song. They’re all smiling, over exaggerating their Elvis moves and bumping into each other as they sing. Thomas is smiling too, letting himself get into it. This is going _way_ better than expected.

   Halfway through, Newt picks up his guitar and plays along, leaving the singing to Minho, Gally and even Vince. Thomas meets Newt’s gaze, and both of their eyes get a little brighter. It makes Thomas’ insides feel like fireworks.

   When the song ends, Thomas is nearly out of breath, putting his drumsticks down and looking out to everyone. Nobody speaks for a moment, making him nervous, then Newt breaks the silence.

   “Tommy, would ya mind giving us a minute to talk?” he says. The words themselves are nerve wracking and sound bad, but his face seems to indicate otherwise.

   Thomas stands up, not having noticed how shaky his legs were until now. “Of-of course,” he says, nodding to them.

   He awkwardly shuffles out of the room, closing the door behind him. Part of him wants to listen in, but if they have anything bad to say, he doesn’t want to hear it. Instead, he waits against the wall.

   Even if he’s told no, this’ll still be the most exhilarating experience he’s ever had in his life. Hearing about Newt, sneaking out on several occasions, finally meeting him, auditioning. He’d hold onto it forever.

   The door opens back up a few minutes later, and Thomas tenses up when he sees Newt poke his head out.

   “You can come back in now,” he says, his expression unreadable.

   They walk in together, Newt closing the door before sitting back next to Minho. Thomas has no clue where to stand, so he just stands by the wall, Minho giving him a what-are-you- _doing_ look.

   “Just sit next to the piano,” Minho says, pointing to the stool that’s semi placed in front of them.

   Thomas listens, sitting down and minding his posture. But when he looks and sees that the rest of them are more slouched over, he relaxes. Rock and roll image, right?

   “So, we’ve got a few questions,” Vince says. He’s crossing his arms and leaning back, but to Thomas, it feels like he’s towering fifty feet above him.

   “That’s fine,” Thomas says, giving him a small smile.

   “Alright, can you read music?” Vince asks.

   This is an easy one. “I can, actually,” Thomas says. Stealing a quick look at Newt, he’s looking at Minho smugly.

   “How long have you been playing and how many songs do you know?” Vince asks, his tone almost accusatory. Suddenly, Thomas believes Minho when he said they don’t get special treatment.

   “I’ve been playing on and off for five years, and, um, I’m not sure how many songs I know _exactly_ ,” Thomas says nervously.

   “Can you ballpark?” Vince asks. “One? Fifty?”

   “Christ’s sake, Vince,” Newt laughs. “He can read music, what does it matter how many songs he knows?”

   “It’s definitely more than twenty,” Thomas says sheepishly.

   “You’re fine,” Newt says assuredly. “Have you ever written music? We don’t do a lot of covers, we mostly write ourselves.”

   “A couple of songs over the years,” Thomas says. He leaves out the fact that they weren’t ever any good. Hopefully, the rest of them would do all the writing.

   “Brilliant,” Newt says, then looks at Minho and Gally.

   “I have a few,” Gally says. “First, do you have a job?”

   Thomas hesitates. “Should I?”

   “Ideally?” Gally asks. “No. We practice a lot.”

   Relaxing, Thomas shakes his head. “I don’t have a job, no.”

   “Great, do you have a car? A way to get to practice or gigs?” Gally asks.

   “I do,” Thomas says. Gally seems pleased, but apparently they’re not done.

   “Had you heard of us before yesterday?” Minho asks.

   The question Thomas wants least of all. Does he lie? Would he look like a creep? No, he’ll tell the truth. But if Newt thinks he’s weird, he’ll have to hide in a hole.

   “Yeah, actually, I had,” Thomas says. He’s almost strong enough not to look at Newt, but he does anyway. If Thomas doesn’t almost choke when he sees the smirk on his face, he definitely does when Newt’s eyes trail down him.

   “How much have you heard? Have you been to any of our gigs?” Minho asks, his tone _also_ sounding accusatory.

   “I, um, heard a bit. I’ve been to maybe three gigs,” Thomas says. This time, he can’t bring himself to look at Newt.

   “I take it you approached Newt because you recognized him?” Minho asks.

   Could he ask less embarrassing questions? “Kinda.” He’s not _lying_.

   “God, just ask him the bloody question already,” Newt says. Thomas looks at him now, and he’s rolling his eyes. Minho opens his mouth, then closes it, so Newt shakes his head. “Fine, then. I’ll ask.”

   “Ask what?” Thomas says quietly and mostly to himself.

   Newt looks him in the eye. “Do you know that I’m homosexual?”

   Gally and Minho look at each other, but Newt doesn’t take his gaze off of Thomas. Thomas feels himself blushing, clearing his throat.

   “Y-yeah, I do,” Thomas says, his voice cracking. The bluntness of his words makes Thomas nervous, like saying it out loud makes everything real.

   “And you don’t have a problem with that?” Minho asks protectively.

   Thomas shakes his head ‘no’ at the same time as Newt talks. “Of course he doesn’t, he knew when he came to talk to me.”

   “Just checking,” Minho says.

   “You boys all done with your questions, then?” Newt asks, looking around. Nobody says anything, so Newt stands up, walking over and stopping right in front of Thomas. He stands up too, noticing their height difference when he has to tilt his head up a bit to meet Newt’s eyes. “I’m glad you undersold yourself, Tommy. Welcome to Scorch.”


	3. three

For the next hour, they throw a bunch of new songs at Thomas. He’s familiar with a few from having seen some of their gigs, but the drumming is a bit harder than he expected.

   Every time he messes up he nervously glances at Vince, just waiting for him to tell Thomas to get lost. But, miraculously enough, he doesn’t. In fact, they all seem kind of amused when Thomas makes a mistake.

   On a particularly bad screw up, Thomas meets Newt’s gaze and Newt lets out the sweetest laugh that Thomas has ever heard. Thoughts like that used to scare him, but not as much anymore. He’s gotten more used to them, but he’s still conflicted as to what they mean.

   See, Thomas likes girls. He’s almost positive that he does. But is it possible to like girls… _and_ guys at the same time? Is that even a thing? He’s had one or two girlfriends, and he always felt genuinely attracted to them.

   So, maybe Newt is nice to think about in _theory_. But what if he actually—

   “You coming?”

   Thomas is snapped out of his thoughts to look up at Newt, who’s looking at him expectantly. Suddenly, he realizes Minho and Gally are gone, and furrows his eyebrows.

   “Sorry, where?” Thomas asks.

   “Smoke break,” Newt says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

   Thomas wants to decline. He wants to sit there and mess around on the drums while they’re gone, trying to figure out a few of the songs. But what would they think of him then?

   “Oh,” Thomas says. “Okay, yeah.”

   He follows Newt as they walk to the entrance, watching him from behind. The boy’s stride exudes a confidence that Thomas cannot even begin to understand. More than anything, it’s just strange to see him right in front of Thomas. Knowing his name, walking with him, now his… _friend_.

   “Why are we going outside?” Thomas suddenly asks, Newt turning around.

   “It’s a nice day,” he says with a thoughtful frown. “Also, Vince doesn’t like it when we smoke in the shop. Says the smoke damages the records, or something.”

   “Huh,” Thomas says simply, Newt opening the door.

   Thomas stands puzzled for a moment when Newt doesn’t move, but then he nods his head towards the door. He’s opening the door for _Thomas_.

   He sheepishly walks outside, Newt following as if he hadn’t caused an eruption of butterflies in Thomas’ stomach just a moment ago. Newt takes a spot leaning against the wall, Gally and Minho already doing the same next to him.

   Thomas watches Newt look up at Gally, holding out a hand.

   “Mind if I borrow a ciggie? I’ve left mine in my jacket,” Newt asks, Gally automatically getting one out for him before he even finishes speaking.

   He also lights it for Newt, Thomas noticing the way Newt’s jaw sticks out as he holds the cigarette between his lips. Something about it is beautiful to Thomas for some reason, and he looks even more intimidating like this.

   Although, it’s nothing compared to how he looks on stage. All focused on the music, his fingers moving quickly on the guitar, hair perfectly messy and slightly matted to his forehead with sweat. Thomas is never really able to pay much attention to the songs. Newt’s art enough on his own.

   Finally it’s lit, Newt taking a long drag.

   “Want one?” Gally asks, forcing Thomas to look away from Newt embarrassingly.

   “Um, no thanks,” Thomas says awkwardly, shaking his head.

   “What’s wrong? Not a smoker?” Minho asks.

   Thomas’ cheeks turn pink. “Oh, no, I am! I’m just…” Thomas trails off, trying to think of an excuse. “You know what? I’ll have one.”

   Gally takes another one out of the pack and hands it to Thomas, who takes it with shaky fingers. He puts it between his lips and follows Newt’s movements, letting Gally light it.

   Where is he supposed to _look_ while Gally’s doing this? Surely not at him. His eyes wind up trailing from the cigarette to Newt, who, surely enough, is looking at Thomas with a smirk.

   He reacts to Newt’s look like a hand touching a hot plate, immediately looking away. The cigarette is lit now, so Thomas and Gally both step back, Thomas finding a spot to lean against the wall next to Newt.

   Newt’s no longer looking at him, Minho having started to talk, so Thomas just sits with the cigarette in his mouth, not attempting to actually smoke it yet. He hasn’t tried to smoke in two years or so, so maybe he would be alright at it now?

   While he listens to Newt talk to the others with ease, Thomas wonders how Minho and Gally are so comfortable with him. They’re really good people for not dropping Newt as soon as everyone found out. Did _they_ even know?

   “So, Tommy, you’ve seen us play, then?” Newt asks, turning to Thomas who quickly takes the cigarette out of his mouth.

   “Yeah,” Thomas says timidly. “I have.”

   “You could have just told me so, you know,” Newt says, before taking another drag of his cigarette.

   “It didn’t come up,” Thomas says, inwardly cringing at the words. He didn’t want Newt to know that he knew about the band, because he didn’t want Newt to know that Thomas knew about _him_. But the cat’s out of the bag now, he guesses.

   Newt just keeps the smile on his face. “You liked what you saw, then?”

   Thomas blinks. “ _What_?”

   “The band,” Newt says.  _Oh_. His words sound innocent, but how could he have not known what it sounded like he was saying? Unless Thomas is really that much of a fool. “You liked us?”

   “I-I did,” Thomas says, fidgeting with the cigarette in his hands.

   “Do you see a lot of shows, then?” Newt asks.

    _No_. “Yeah,” Thomas lies.

   “You’ve got a good ear for rhythm,” Newt says. “It’s a good thing you came up to me.”

   “Thank you,” Thomas says, not helping his blush. Newt thinks he’s got a good ear for rhythm. He thought that Newt would have laughed in his face after hearing him play, not be complimenting him.

   There’s a silence for a moment, so Thomas bravely puts the cigarette to his lips and takes a breath in, his heart pounding.

   It feels like someone is trying to burn his throat, and it tastes like burnt rubber, Thomas opening his mouth to let the smoke out. But all that comes out is a string of coughs, Thomas feeling his chest tightening as he tries to stop himself, hating how embarrassing it is.

   “Are you okay?” Newt asks, his words coming between laughs.

   Thomas tries to get air into his lungs, his eyes burning. “Y—” He’s cut off by more coughing, now seeing Minho laughing too. Great. Just great.

   “Give me that,” Newt says, taking the cigarette from Thomas’ hand and tossing it to the ground, putting it out with his foot.

   “What a waste,” Gally laughs, shaking his head at the ground.

   “I’m sorry,” Thomas croaks out, before coughing again.

   “You’re fine, mate,” Newt says. “Just breathe.”

   Thomas nods, continuing to try to catch his breath. Maybe trying to smoke again wasn’t such a great idea. Could he do anything more to embarrass himself?

   A few minutes of anxiety and self-doubt later, Newt speaks again.

   “I was afraid for a moment when you sat next to me, you know,” Newt says, looking out at the street. “Then I saw how awkward you were. You’ll need to work on that if you’re going to be in a band,” Newt laughs.

   “Afraid?” Thomas asks, choosing to ignore the minor insult.

   “Well, sure,” Newt shrugs. “You could have been there for anything. Anyway, you have some time to adjust, being the drummer and all, but you have to work on being so…”

   “Boring? Odd?” Thomas says, Newt turning to him.

   “I don’t think you’re boring. Or odd. Just a little… nervous. But you shouldn’t be. We’ll help you out,” Newt says. “You can start by not trying to please anyone else; like saying you smoke when you don’t. Just say or do whatever you want, don’t worry what we think.”

   “What if… What if someone doesn’t like what I have to say?” Thomas asks.

   The question is a lot deeper to Thomas than Newt would think. After all, he doesn’t know about Thomas’ recent… thoughts, right? Either way, Newt should know the answer to this more than anyone.

   “Screw them, then,” Newt says. “Don’t let anyone tell you what to think.”

   “Who are we screwing?” Minho says, leaning forward from his spot on the wall.

   “Anyone that doesn’t like what Tommy here has to say,” Newt says, turning to Minho.

   “Newt’s right. Screw them,” Gally says.

   “You can’t care what other people think. If we did, we wouldn’t be here right now. Screw them,” Minho says.

   Thomas can’t imagine what people must be thinking about Newt. But he’s here, he’s playing gigs, and he looks unapologetically happy while doing it. _I guess that’s the rock and roll attitude_.

   “Yeah,” Thomas says, a smile forming on his lips. “Screw them.”


	4. four

The rest of Thomas’ first practice goes by without a hitch, and by the time he leaves, he’s on cloud nine. His head is a mess of songs, names, faces and _Newt_. He could barely focus on the way home. With his clumsiness, it’s a miracle he got back in one piece.

   A while later, Thomas is laying on his bed with one particular memory he can’t get out of his head as he fidgets with the flyer in his hand. The one memory that started it all.

—

It was all simple for Thomas. Now that he was graduated, he’d go off to college, then eventually settle down with a nice girl. After that, he’d take over his father’s mechanic shop, keep the family business going. He never had to think twice about it, because it had always been the plan.

   “You all heard, right?” Thomas’ good friend Brenda said, upon sitting down at their booth in the diner. Everyone looked at each other, shaking their heads in sync.

   “Heard what?” Teresa, another good friend of Thomas’ and Brenda’s best friend, asked.

   “That one boy… Newton something,” Brenda said, looking around at all of our faces. She was quite… in the know.

   “Wait, I _do_ know what you mean!” Aris said. He’d been a newer addition to their little group, only having met him in their final year of high school, but it was a natural fit and they couldn’t imagine going back. Plus, Thomas was sick of being the only guy.

   “I knew I could count on you, Aris,” Brenda said with a wicked smile.

   “Is anyone going to actually say what happened?” Thomas asked. He didn’t particularly care about gossip, but he also didn’t much like the suspense.

   “Get with it, Thomas,” Brenda said, before leaning in and dramatically lowering her voice. “Apparently there’s a… queer guy in town. He’s _our_ age.”

   Thomas’ chest automatically tightened. A queer boy? _Here_?

   “Are you serious?” Thomas asked. Brenda nodded, Teresa’s expression somewhat unreadable.

   “How do you guys know?” Teresa asked.

   “The story _I_ heard—” Aris started over enthusiastically, then cut himself off. When Brenda gestured for him to continue, he went on with the same odd excitement. “He’s in a band, and at one of their gigs, this girl was trying to… follow him backstage, and she found him with another guy.”

   “Doing what? Standing near each other?” Thomas asked.

   “I heard they were making out,” Aris said. Thomas couldn’t comprehend the words.

   “I heard something a bit worse,” Brenda said. Thomas’ stomach churned.

   “Who was the other guy?” Thomas asked.

   Brenda shrugged. “I don’t know, apparently he split before she could find out. But it was definitely Newton with him.”

   “Maybe it wasn’t a guy,” Thomas theorized.

   “Oh, it was a guy,” Brenda said. “When Newton saw the girl, he begged her not to say anything before she left.”

   Thomas felt absolutely sick. He couldn’t imagine being in the boy’s position.

   “I feel bad,” Teresa said, voicing Thomas’ thoughts. “That must be horrible for him. What’s he going to do now?”

   “I’m not sure,” Brenda said, her tone dropping.

   “I think his band is still playing places,” Aris said.

   “What band? Maybe I’ve seen them,” Thomas asked. He knew well that there was little to no chance that he’d ever seen them, but getting the name couldn’t hurt, right?

   “You?” Brenda laughed. Luckily, she let it go quickly. “They’re called Scorch. Newton plays the guitar.”

   The rest of lunch, Thomas was completely lost in his thoughts. Something about this had him all shaken up, but what? He knew one thing was for sure. He had to go see that band play. 

—

Who _was_ that boy that Newt was found with? Thomas gets a strange feeling every time he thinks about it. So, to drown it out, he goes back to thinking about other things. Like Newt’s smile when a song was going well. Or his fingers effortlessly sliding up and down the neck of the guitar. Or the way his jaw his extra defined when he’s smoking.

   His second practice is tomorrow after church, and he can’t say that he’s not excited. Being in the band is unreal to him. He’s also really missed drumming a lot, it’s relaxing and makes him feel like he has the whole world in his hands. It’s not often that he feels that powerful, that in control.

   Of course, there are a few things to worry about. He was nervous that his friends would come to one of their shows, but they weren’t at any he’s been to so far. Brenda has moved on to five other different gossipy topics since then. Hopefully she’s over it.

   Then there are the remaining protestors. What if someone recognizes Thomas and tells his parents? He’s in the back on the drums, which helps. But does it help enough?

   The thing he takes the most comfort in is Newt. He’s still walking around in public, he’s still playing in his band. _Screw them_ , his words come to mind. If he can say that, why can’t Thomas?

  
  
  


After church, Thomas tells his parents that he’s going to meet up with Aris, then hops into his car to drive to band practice. He skipped confession today—much to the annoyance of his parents—because he doesn’t know what to _say_. But everything about it makes his mind race as he heads towards the music shop.

   He just lied to his parents. That’s a sin, isn’t it? Even more than that… his possible feelings towards Newt. The people at the church would probably drench him in holy water, pray for him, then kick him out at the very _least_. How can he keep something like this a secret? What can he even _do_ about it?

   Jesus encouraged everyone to love and forgive, didn’t he? So why would Thomas be so wrong for feeling something for Newt? He’s almost positive that Jesus would condone it, despite what the Bible may say.

   Regardless, he still has a guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach when he pulls up to Vince’s shop. All he can do is push it down for now, shutting his car off and taking a deep breath.

   He can see that Minho’s car is already parked out front, so he walks in on his own. There’s no sign of them in the main store front, so he walks down to their practice room on his own as well.

   It’s only when he enters the room, the eyes of Newt, Minho, and Gally on him, when he realizes that he’s just come from church. Meaning, he has on his church _clothes_.

   “Hi,” Thomas says awkwardly, looking down at himself. Bright white dress shirt, freshly pressed suit and a tan vest. Not exactly fit for the drummer of a rock n’ roll band. “I-I just came from church, and I didn’t have the time to—”

   “Have you completely forgotten everything I told you yesterday?” Newt asks. Thomas frowns. Did Newt tell him anything about a dress code? “Don’t care about what we think.”

    _Oh_. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” Thomas says, before cringing at his mistake. The corner of Newt’s mouth turns up into a smile, meanwhile everyone else has already gone back to other tasks.

   “‘S’okay, Tommy. You’re still learning,” Newt says, looking back down at his guitar. He’s sat on a chair with it in his lap, seemingly tuning, because he puts the pick in between his teeth now, reaching up to turn one of the pegs.

   His hair falls into his face as he takes the pick out, Thomas watching him test the note. When Newt frowns at the sound, Thomas doesn’t even realize that he’s started smiling until he’s getting bumped in the arm, quickly breaking his gaze to look next to him.

   It’s Gally, and he looks… nervous? But he gives Thomas a small smile that disappears quickly, nodding over to the drums.

   “I put sheet music for a few of the songs we’re practicing today over there if you wanted to start looking them over,” Gally says.

   “Sure, thank you,” Thomas says sheepishly, walking over to the drums and sitting down. Sure enough, there’s pages of sheet music on a stand next to his seat. He’s glad that his younger self learned to read music, otherwise he wouldn’t be where he is now. The universe is funny like that. Maybe this is his destiny.

   When Thomas looks up from the music, having been tapping it out with his fingers on the side of the stand, he sees Minho and Gally huddled together, looking directly at Thomas. Upon meeting their gazes, they both look away quickly, back to each other or anywhere else in the room. Were they talking about _him_? Is he doing something wrong?

   He debates asking them, but decides not to. He’s only just joined, and if he says something daft, he doesn’t want to ruin everything.

  
  
  


As rehearsal wears on, Thomas fumbling through the songs, he can hardly take his eyes off of Newt. He’s turned away from him most of the time, of course, but even from behind, Thomas watches every little movement he makes. Every nod of his head, every arch of his back, the way his arm moves and his bicep flexes against the material of his shirt. He wonders what it would be like to be so flawless in everything you do.

   The less… _pleasant_ thought that comes up, is once again wondering who that boy was that Newt was caught with. Were they an item? And if they were together, are they still? Thomas tries to think about what kind of boy Newt would go for, but his mind tries to block the thought before it can go any further. It’s not like he could do anything with the information… right?

   Despite the distraction of Newt, Thomas really loses himself in the drums, his grin dazzling every time he finally feels and _gets_ a song. Nothing beats that feeling, and right now, the thought of going back to work on cars sounds like torture. He’d rather do this, all day every day, without a doubt.

   It’s also interesting to see the rest of the band interact. They work like a well oiled machine, playing off of each other and indicating what to do with a mere glance or nod of the head. If Thomas could get to that level with them, that would be pure magic.

   Any awkwardness from before seems to have dimmed when Minho announces that he needs to get home, and he says goodbye to Thomas with a warm smile and a pat on the back. Thomas takes it as a high praise, compared to how he acted when they met yesterday. _Yesterday_. It feels like a million years ago.

   “Hey, Tommy, what’re you doing later on?”

   Thomas turns around after saying bye to Gally to see Newt putting his guitar back in it’s case, staring up at Thomas. He raises his eyebrows, and Thomas almost forgets to answer.

   “I don’t think I’m doing anything,” he says. It’s a lie. He’s supposed to have dinner with his family, but he can excuse his way out of that one by saying he’s eating with Aris’ family. He might as well, considering he’s on a roll with being dishonest.

   “D’you wanna come by my place?” Newt asks. “We can go now, so I can show you where it is rather than making you try to find it.”

   Thomas feels like his face has become a mask, because he no longer can feel it. That, or his limbs. Yet he feels himself nodding. “That sounds good to me.”

   “Brilliant. Mind if I ride with you? I came with Gally and Minho,” Newt asks.

   He didn’t give Thomas a reason for coming over. No ‘let’s look over the music’ or ‘there’s something I want to discuss’. Thomas is walking in blind, but right now, he doesn’t care.

   “I don’t mind at all,” he says, his voice wavering at the end. He can be cool, he needs to be cool.

   “Thanks, mate,” Newt says, before picking up his guitar case and walking past Thomas to the door, opening it and standing against it. “Let’s go, then.”

   Thomas walks through the door with an endless supply of butterflies in his stomach.


	5. five

The ride to Newt’s place is a mostly silent one, and although Thomas feels awkward, Newt doesn’t act it at all. It’s almost unnerving how at ease he always looks. Thomas, however, is so distracted that he winds up missing several turns, despite the fact that Newt is right next to him telling him where to go. Newt’s laugh is smooth as honey when he tells him he’s screwed up, and Thomas finds himself not minding being made fun of.

   Eventually, they pull up to a small and dingy apartment complex, and Thomas looks around, thinking he must have pulled into the wrong lot. But Newt wordlessly gets out of the car, taking his guitar case from the backseat. Thomas turns the car off and follows him up the stairs, letting his eyes freely wander over the boy in front of him, even though that’s all he did during band practice. He’s not even doing it consciously, but at least nobody can see him.

   Newt keeps on going up another flight of stairs and down a cramped, moldy smelling hallway until he stops at a door marked ‘fourteen’ and opens it up, stepping in and turning to Thomas with a bright smile.

    “Welcome to my pad!” he says. “Sweet, right?”

   Thomas takes a look around. The walls look off-white—but he’s guessing they didn’t start that way—and the rug is faded and worn. The ceiling looks like it’s taken water damage, and it looks to only be two rooms, the current one they’re standing in and a bathroom. The main room has a bed, a couch, a radio, and a small kitchen area. Overall… it’s small.

   “I…” Thomas starts. Newt laughs, closing the door behind them.

   “Don’t worry, I know the place is shit,” Newt says, walking over and putting his guitar on his bed. “But, hey, it’s mine.”

   “I think it’s pretty cool, actually,” Thomas says.

   Newt looks back at him and raises his eyebrows. “Sure you do. C’mon,” he says, sitting on the couch and nodding his head towards the other end of it. “Promise the couch won’t bite.”

   Thomas sits down, his limbs feeling like jelly. Two weeks ago, he never would have thought he’d be sitting in Newt’s apartment with him. Is it dangerous? Maybe, but right now, staring at the boy, he couldn’t care less.

   “So, tell me,” Newt starts, shifting so his knees are close to his chest and his arm is resting on the back of the couch, his body facing Thomas now. “Have you got a death wish, Tommy?”

   Thomas’ mouth goes dry when he tries to speak. “W-what?”

   Newt’s smile is back. “I asked if you’ve got a death wish,” he says. “I’d say you do.”

   “I don’t,” Thomas says, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why?”

   “You joined my band, didn’t you?” he asks. “Might as well have just drawn a target on your back. But I think you knew that.”

   Thomas shakes his head. The words make him feel sick, he doesn’t want to think about that. “I don’t think so.”

   “So you just happened to think the band with the queer boy was the one you had to join as a coincidence?” Newt asks. He doesn’t say it in a rude way, but it makes Thomas’ heart pound. “No… you had another motive.”

   Thomas cannot find a good answer to that. He’s completely right, but does he know his motive? Does Thomas even know his _own_ motive?

   “I liked you guys, that’s all, really,” Thomas says unconvincingly.

   “I see how you act,” Newt says. Thomas’ chest gets increasingly tighter as his words continue on. “I notice how you look at me, and it’s not lost on me that you came over to me the other day without any intentions to talk about the band. So the question is, do _you_ know why?”

   Thomas fights the urge to puke. He’s speaking so calmly with a strong tone of amusement in his voice and Thomas wonders how he can just be so _normal_ about it. Again, he’s right. _Does_ Thomas know why?

   “I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Thomas says, his voice shaky.

   “It’s okay, you know,” Newt says. “You can talk to me.”

   He seems so genuine, and yet Thomas cannot bring himself to say anything he wants to say to him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

   “I mean, I _could_ be wrong,” Newt says, pouting. “But judging by the fact that you look like you’ve seen a ghost and you haven’t punched me yet, I don’t think I am.”

   Thomas’ stomach drops, and he stands up before his mind can control his actions. This is too much, this is too _real_. He isn’t ready for it to be this real, he was fine just left to his own thoughts. He shouldn’t have tried in the first place.

   “I think this was a mistake,” Thomas mumbles, frozen in place as Newt stands up too.

   “Tommy, if I was wrong, then I’m—”

   “No,” Thomas cuts him off, then realizes what he said. “I mean… I just—”

   “Look at me.” Thomas looks up at Newt to see his eyes trail from Thomas’ own, then down to his lips, then back up again. A shiver runs down his spine, and Newt puts a hand on Thomas’ arm. “Just calm down, alright? You’re safe here.”

   Thomas takes a few breaths, then looks down again. He shouldn’t be getting so worked up, that’s just giving himself away.

   “How are you so casual about it?” Thomas’ words are out before he can filter himself.

   “What? About being…” Newt trails off. Thomas nods, so he continues. “It’s out, so why shouldn’t I own it? The bastards that hate me would love if I sat in the shadows all the time.”

   “What about—” Thomas stops himself. He was going to ask about Newt’s family, but their current surroundings change his mind. Where _is_ Newt’s family? “What about Minho and Gally?”

   “What about them? They’re good mates; supportive. Who knows where I’d be without them—the only reason I even have this place is because Minho’s old man sold it to me for cheap,” Newt says.

   So that’s it, Minho and Gally are just good people? Newt’s lucky to have them, Thomas has no clue how his friends would respond if he wasn’t… how they think he is.

   Newt sits back down, and Thomas follows suit, this time both of them sitting a bit more rigidly. Thomas has his hands folded on his lap, and he avoids eye contact with Newt when he asks his next question.

   “How did you figure it out?” Thomas asks.

   “When I was fifteen, I was making out with this bird and I realized that I wasn’t into it at _all_. I forced my way through it, obviously, but I didn’t like it. After that, I gave it some thought, and it dawned on me that I don’t like girls. I thought I was broken, that I wasn’t attracted to _anyone_. Then, I met this bassist from another band and realized I fancied him,” Newt laughs.

    _Was it the guy you were caught with?_ Thomas wants to ask, but refrains. He stops to consider the information, then decides to respond with the truth. “I like girls.”

   Newt nods and there’s a silence before he speaks again. “You know it’s possible to be attracted to both, right?”

   Thomas almost chokes on air. “What?”

   “A lot of people are,” Newt says, shrugging. “It’s more common than we even know. People just hide it.”

   “So you can… like girls and guys at the same time?” Thomas asks.

   “Sure can,” Newt says. “D’you suppose… that’s something you’re curious about?”

    _That’s_ where his effortlessly cool tone wavers. His last sentence, Thomas looks up at him and his wall seems to slip, revealing, what, nerves? Whatever it was, it looked a lot like vulnerability to Thomas. If Newt’s willing to be vulnerable, why shouldn’t Thomas?

   “I don’t know,” Thomas says, barely able to hear himself over the blood pounding in his ears.

   “I’m willing to help, y’know,” Newt says softly. His eyes are dark swirling orbs of something Thomas is drawn to so deeply he can’t look away, trying to figure out what he’s feeling. Maybe he’s a tiny bit anxious, maybe it’s something different. Maybe it’s something a lot deeper. Something Thomas has never felt before.

   “How?” Thomas asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

   Newt doesn’t do anything for a painstakingly long moment. Then, he’s leaning close to Thomas, one of his hands coming up and grabbing loosely onto Thomas’ shirt, the vest and jacket thankfully having been discarded in the car. Thomas feels his warm hand through the material, and that combined with the closeness makes his mind swim. Newt’s face is mere inches away from Thomas’, and his eyes are locked onto his.

   “Is this okay?” Newt asks, his voice low and cracking a bit at the end. With the way he said it, Thomas can’t find any other words in his vocabulary but—

   “Yes.”

   Then Newt’s eyes are closing, and so are Thomas’ and then before Thomas knows what’s even happening, they’re kissing— _fuck_ , they’re _kissing_. Thomas didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Newt’s lips were on his, and it makes him let out a sigh into Newt’s mouth, who Thomas can feel smirk in response to.

  Thomas’ body moves faster than his brain, his lips still moving on Newt’s soft ones and his hands coming up. One cups Newt’s face, and the other reaches around to the back of his head, feeling his soft hair run through his fingertips. As for Newt’s hands, the one on his shirt grips it tighter, and the other moves to Thomas’ waist, the contact setting off a fire in Thomas he didn’t know he even _had_.

   It’s like any time he’s kissed a girl but even better, and he doesn’t understand how this can’t just be a normal thing. Why don’t all boys kiss boys if it feels this good? How could something like this be considered bad?

   He has no clue how long they’ve been kissing when they pull away, both of their breaths heavy. Thomas doesn’t know what his own face looks like, but Newt’s looks stunning. His hair is messy from Thomas’ fingers, his eyes are wide and dilated, and his lips are puffy and extra red. Thomas could stare all day.

   After a few moments of neither of them speaking, Thomas breaks the silence.

   “That helped,” he breathes out, making Newt break out into another smile. This one’s different, though. Thomas can’t put his finger on why, but it is.

   “That’s good,” Newt says, nodding. “I’m glad.”

   “I am too,” Thomas agrees. It feels like he’s not even _him_ ; normal, mundane, rule-following Thomas would never lie to his parents to go to someone’s apartment to make out with them, let alone a _boy_. For a moment, he feels invincible. But just a moment. “Holy shit.”

   “Are you alright?” Newt asks, concern now painted on his face.

   “No—I mean yes, I mean—” Thomas takes a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

   “That’s normal,” Newt says. “It’s bloody terrifying the first time, but you get used to it.”

   Thomas doesn’t miss that that’s the first time Newt’s admitted to something having to do with this being scary. He has it so together, so hearing him say that is simultaneously comforting and horrifying.

   “I’m afraid,” Thomas blurts out.

   “There’s nothing to be worried about, Tommy. I’m not going to tell anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking. Not even Minho or Gally, although I s’pect they wouldn’t be surprised,” Newt says with a smirk.

   “ _What_?” Thomas asks, mortified.

   Newt laughs. “They’re not blind, I’m sure they picked up on some of the same things I did. But we’ll leave that as a mystery to them.”

   Thomas can feel his face burning. Was his fascination really that obvious? He can’t slip up like that again, it could cost him everything.

   “What if my parents find out?” Thomas asks.

   “Who’s going to tell them?” Newt asks.

   Thomas realizes he’s right, but the irrational fears keep creeping in anyway. Suddenly, Thomas remembers something he was supposed to do.

   “Do you have a telephone?” he asks.

   “Are _you_ telling them?” Newt laughs. Thomas just looks at him sternly, and Newt gets up, Thomas following him.

   He walks Thomas over to the phone, and Thomas thanks him, taking it and dialing his house. Because of all the distraction with Newt, he completely forgot to call home and tell them where he was.

   “Hello?” Thomas’ mother picks up the phone.

   “Hi, Mom. I’m eating dinner at Aris’ house,” Thomas says, trying to keep his voice level. Looking up, Newt’s smiling devilishly at Thomas, and it almost makes his voice crack.

   “That’s fine, just try not to be back too late. I love you,” she says sweetly. Thomas feels bad for lying to her. He really doesn’t want to sneak around behind her back, but what other choice does he have?

   The guilt is short lived, cutting off abruptly when Newts fingers are on Thomas’ arm, tracing up and down.

   “Love you too,” Thomas rushes out before hanging up the phone and sighing of relief, looking back at Newt.

   “Wasn’t aware my name was Aris,” Newt laughs.

   “I’m sorry, I just can’t—”

   “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Newt says genuinely, shaking his head. “I get it.”

   Thomas doesn’t speak for a moment, just looking at Newt. He wishes he could gauge how the boy is feeling, but unfortunately, that seems to always be impossible.  

   “Was there a different reason for inviting me over?” Thomas asks, regretting the words as they’re leaving his mouth. “Was it just to figure out if…”

   “Well, yes and no,” Newt says, shrugging and taking his hand away from Thomas’ arm—much to his secret dismay. “I wanted to know that, but I also wanted to get to know you better. Our band is pretty close, it’s weird not to know everyone.”

   “We—um—we could do that,” Thomas says, nodding. “Where do we start?”

   “It doesn’t work like that,” Newt says with a chuckle. “We’ll just hang out.”

   “Okay,” Thomas says awkwardly. He’s always been good at making friends and carrying conversations, but apparently _not_ with Newt.

   But sure enough, they wind up on the couch again, and Thomas rambles on for an hour about his friends, stories from school, stories about his family, and little things like how he got to playing the drums. He doesn’t know where it all comes from, but he can’t seem to stop. If Newt’s annoyed by it, Thomas doesn’t notice, too busy off in his own world. The times he stops to analyze Newt’s expressions, though, he’s smiling softly, giving Thomas a warm and fuzzy feeling in his stomach.

   A question sticks out at Thomas as he lets his gaze slip down to Newt’s lips every so often. Was the kiss just to help Thomas figure out who he is? Or was it something more? He’s not sure which he wants it to be, but he knows he wants the answer. What did it mean when he just had his fingers running down Thomas’ arm?

   Although, either way, what difference would it make?

   He tries to push the thought away, compartmentalizing it as a ‘worry about it later’ problem. As of right now, he’s with Newt. That’s enough to focus on.

   Between his long stretches of talking too much, Thomas asks Newt several questions and for every one he gets an overly simplified non-answer. He doesn’t point it out, of course, but it bothers him. All he learned is that Newt hated math in school and started playing guitar when he was twelve. Not a lot of information, but he’ll take what he can get.

   When Thomas gets up to leave, he looks at the window and notices how dark it is out, his eyes widening.

   “I’m sorry I stayed too long,” Thomas says sheepishly, Newt getting up with him and smiling.

   “No worries, I enjoy the company. It can get a little lonely over here,” Newt says. The statement makes Thomas unintentionally frown, but Newt keeps his carefree face on. “Go on, get home. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

   “Yeah,” Thomas agrees as they walk to the door. Once they’re there, Thomas turns back to Newt, fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt out of nerves. “Thank you… for everything.”

   “My pleasure,” Newt says without missing a beat, winking at Thomas and sending butterflies through his stomach.

   The whole drive home, Thomas has two moods; panic and bliss.


End file.
